All my Ducklings
by Miss Mudkip
Summary: [Duck Hunt] All is well in the quiet prairie community. The ducks live in harmony with the other grassland creatures. But one day, a newcomer makes their presence known, showering death upon the ducks. Will they ever see their families again?


**Author's Note:** _Rated T for the violence, just to be safe._

_I __know I said I like to put author notes at the end of chapters/stories, but oh well. This is an exception._

_I noticed that there weren't any stories about Duck Hunt, so I figured I'd write one. I usually write comedies, so if it's funny, it's not supposed to be. It just slipped in there. xD... I tried to write a sad story. I think I failed miserably. Oh well. D:_

_It's a oneshot. (That is what a short story like this is called, right...?)_

_Anyways... Thanks for reading! _

* * *

Rays of warmth rained down upon the earth, where the sea of grass danced in the wind, and the trees whispered their secrets to the heavens. The prairie-dwelling creatures all lived in harmony, appreciative of the clear sky smiling down at them.

"All clear," a nervous voice whispered through the grass.

"Are you sure?" whispered another.

"Yes," hisses a third. "Just get out there and fly!"

"But the dog will surely get us!" murmured a fourth.

"He jumped into the grass ages ago. Just go!" The third voice urged.

"I'm going in," announced a fifth voice. He stretched his wings and soared high into the air, when something shiny caught his eye. And the flock knew how he loved to collect shiny things. He jerked his head over, only to see the barrel of a shiny rifle glinting in the sunlight. That was no treasure gleaming in the beautiful sun; it was his death sentence. And before any cogs could turn, any light bulbs could click on, a shot rang out across the peaceful prairie, and the duck fell lifeless to a heap on the ground. Only then to be dishonored further, by the gunman's accomplice: his four-legged friend. The man's best friend trotted over to the duck, grasped the bird's neck in his paw, and lifted the lifeless creature into the air, showing it off, as if it were a trophy. Sinking back into the grass, disinterested by the bird so quickly, he merely tossed it aside.

Outraged by this display of injustice, duck number two puffed up his chest, and soared into the air to avenge his fallen feathered friend. He knew it was coming. He flew unpredictably through the air, darting this way, and diving that. A bullet whizzed right past his head as he flew into a complex zigzag pattern. He did it! He had survived the killing machine! Now, all he had to do was avenge his buddy…

_Bang._

Wide vacant eyes frozen in their final emotion, fell to the ground, along with the body of the second victim. Again, the mangy mutt trotted over to another fallen comrade, and shook him by the neck, displaying with pride a second trophy to display on a shelf at home.

"I'll get him," growled the third duck, as the dog disappeared in the tall grass once more. Before the other ducks could protest or encourage him, the third duck had launched himself into the air, cutting through the air with agility never seen in a duck like himself before. A sloppy first shot was fired, and missed the angry duck. A second shot was fired, and barely grazed the end of a feather. A third shot, and the duck hung suspended in midair for a split second, before falling gracefully to the ground, only to be humiliated by that dog once again.

Fourteen shots, and eight ducks later, two ducks remained in the safety of their hiding spot. "I'll go next," one duck grimly announced to the other. "I know you've got a wife and kids back home, so I'll distract that killing thing, while you fly off to safety. Do you understand?"

"N-no! No! I won't let you sacrifice yourself like that!" The last duck protested.

"You mean to tell me that you'd rather die, then hear your son's first quack? And I thought you'd be a good father."

"No, you've got to understand. You've been my best mate since…since as far as I can remember. I just won't allow you to give yourself up to this unknown enemy, just for me."

"I have no wife, and no kids," the duck replied calmly, his bill curving into a reassuring smile. "But I do have a best friend, and his family that I am willing to die for. Thanks for everything." Tears spilled out of the corner of the duck's eyes, but he smiled nonetheless, and launched himself into the air, tears trickling down the side of his face, and falling to the earth beneath him. The last duck, however, didn't soar through the air behind his friend; he opted to remain hidden in the grass, crying silently to himself. One shot was fired; the duck continued to soar through the air. The second shot; still, the duck sailed through the air, alive as ever. This was it. The third shot. The duck on the ground closed his eyes; he didn't want to see his best friend leave this world. A third shot was fired, but the melody of his flapping wings resonated their triumphant calling all across the prairie. The last duck watched as his friend soared over the treetops, and into the horizon, flying homeward at last.

The dog with chestnut brown fur leapt up from the grass and giggled uncontrollably at the gunman before eventually returning to the grass.

A strong sense of confidence was instilled in the last duck. He was going to make it home safe to his family. He just knew it. He took a deep breath, and leapt into the sky, wind rushing past his feathered body. As he flew through the air, however, he couldn't help but to recall the first time he had met his best mate.

It was a sunny afternoon, and he had gotten his foot tangled in the vines of an ivy plant. A fellow duckling came along, and untangled him, and they were best friends ever since.

Then, years later, that very same duck introduced him to his first girlfriend, who later became his wife. It was love at first sight. It was that helpful duck back on that sunny afternoon who pushed him to try new things. It was that very duck that urged him to take risks. It was that same duck that risked his own life for him.

And then it hit him. His life was flashing through his eyes. Each heartbeat seemed to be counting down the number of beats he had left to live. Then the shot exploded from the gun. Time slowed down; it nearly froze. The beat of his wings slowed as well; his heart began its final thumps. The bullet crawled through the air, towards his heart. He turned his head to face his death bringer. Although his eyes widened in shock, he accepted his fate. His heart pumped blood through his winged body once more, as the bullet pierced it, and interrupted his thoughts of his wife and son at home. Time resumed its usual pace, as he fell to the ground, as unceremoniously and forgotten as the others.


End file.
